


Twelve years

by honeynoir (bracelets)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 17:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bracelets/pseuds/honeynoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ponds and a special anniversary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve years

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers** : for 'The Angels Take Manhattan'.
> 
> For the [Amy/Rory Cheer-Up Comment-A-Thon](http://ladymercury-10.livejournal.com/46296.html) and [ladymercury_10](http://ladymercury-10.livejournal.com/)'s prompt: _Amy/Rory, where time begins to fade/and age is welcome home_.  
> 

Some indeterminable time between getting to bed and that’s-the-alarm, while it’s still quite dark, Amy wakes him with cold hands and a drop of frothy toothpaste against his bare chest. “You’re getting up, Mr Pond, Mr Williams Pond,” she says, around her brush. “Twelve years.”

He wipes at the drop. “I know.”

“Oh, don’t get nostalgic now.” Amy whirls away, her gown nearly taking down the lamp on his beside table. “Do put your trousers on, _please_.”

 

 

Rory’s still rubbing the hard crust of sleep from the corners of his eyes, stumbling out into the always-present throng occupying the brightening streets. He’s barely had time to tie his shoes, to run his comb through water. This was the Amy who couldn’t afford to second-guess herself.

Twelve years since everything that was ahead of them was the future – the one, linear future. Twelve years since the first trickle of fear, since the first buzz of excitement, since the heavy settling of finality. Twelve years, and not a single time had they raced each other outside because someone, somewhere had used a leaf blower. Twelve years since they unequivocally, for better or for worse, were out of imaginary friends. Twelve years of him mentioning the Doctor more often than her.

Amy leads him by the hand to the spot where they left each other and found each other – and, never forgetting, where she’d said goodbye. Yeah, he’d have wanted to say it, too; to the Doctor, to River, but he had yet to find a way.

Amy stops between two plots, and ankle-deep in dewy grass they watch the sun rise. Twelve years, and the place looks much the same; just more stones. No Angel in sight; there shouldn’t be any, but best make sure.

“Yeah, not nostalgia at all,” he says. “You might need to cut back on going to poetry readings, though.”

She nudges him with an elbow, but there’s no surge of emotion behind the motion, no I’m-Scottish.

 

 

They’ve been there for only minutes when she sucks in a breath, calm now. The sunlight has caught the one white strand in her hair. “You done?”

Rory nods; he’s not really that keen on surges of emotion this early in the day, either. “Yeah.”

“Home. Breakfast.” She turns toward him, claps her palms against his unshaven cheeks (he’s got silver, there, too, as if the hair wasn’t enough). “Mustn’t be late for work.”

“It happened _once_ , the alarm was broken.”

“You keep saying that, yet I heard it go off.” She laughs, which makes the wrinkles around her eyes come out. That is now, quite possibly, the best part about her laugh. “Besides, we’ll be missed soon.”

“You’re just trying to make this into my turn to feed the cats again, aren’t you?”

“Come on,” she says, edging toward the gravel path and tugging her skirt even higher, “first one to the bus stop doesn’t have to.”


End file.
